


50 States, 50 Lines

by dromayr



Category: The Walking Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Death, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, One Shot Collection, Post-Apocalypse, Some chapters have sexual content, Zombies, also there will be mentions of rape, notably carver's rape of rebecca, though only mentioned, warnings will be at the beginning of those chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dromayr/pseuds/dromayr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>50 worlds, 50 lives.</p><p>One-shot dump.</p><p>(My favourite thing about this is you can see my change in writing over three years.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cabin group sits in the living room and watch a chess game.

There's something akin to calm in the cabin. A blanket of warmth and laughter envelops the sleepy survivors and rests gently upon them.

Clementine never thought she'd find chess so amusing. When her father first taught her how to play, she first loathed it, then enjoyed it, and then loved it. "Just  _t_ _hink_ of how jealous everyone's going to be of you, baby girl. You're gonna be the smartest kid in the first grade!" He praised when she beat him for the first time, and the second, and every time after. She used to sit with him, her on the floor and he on the couch, and pass the hours by playing with him, only breaking to eat dinner or go to bed.

Oh how she missed those days, how she longed to be able to tell her father check-

"Knight to F8! Checkmate!" Sarah cried out, grinning ear-to-ear as her father scratched his head and grunted to acknowledge his defeat.

"But I just taught you how to play the other day..." He muttered, leaning back and pondering his daughter's win.

"I guess you can teach, but you can't play very well." Clementine stated with a wide grin spreading across her face. And she was right, Carlos didn't do a good job at keeping his king safe at all.

"Oh really? Why don't you play her then, if you're so good."

"Yeah, Clem! Why don't you play with me! You do know how, don't you?" Sarah urged, beaming at Clementine with her large eyes.

"Yeah, why not? I know a bit."

Clementine sat next to Carlos after he scooted towards the arm of the couch and stared at the board.

"You can move first, Clem!"

"Alright, E2 to E3."

"F7 to F5."

"Queen to F3."

"Knight to F6."

"Queen to F5."

"Knight to G8."

"Bishop to C4."

Carlos 'hmmm'ed in curiosity, wondering if his daughter would catch Clementine making such risky moves.

"G7 to G6."

Nope.

"Queen to F7. Checkmate."

"...What?? How'd you do that?!" Sarah exclaimed, shock and amazement registering on her face.

"It was pretty easy, though really risky. If you'd paid more attention to me, you could have easily stopped me. It's a quick checkmate." Clementine stated, modesty coating her own bit of pride.

"Can you teach me? Please?"

"It's not real easy to teach, it's more of a 'learn as you go' kind of thing, but sure, I can teach you some tricks sometime."

In that moment, it was so easy for Clem to forget that she was the younger one, so easy to forget that Sarah should know so much more than her, but as Sarah's eyes twinkled with curiosity and a little bit of jealousy, Clementine could afford to forget.

Clementine deserved to forget her rough life, if only for a little while.

 


	2. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clementine hurts, and so does Kenny.

Clementine couldn't remember the last time she'd felt safe.

Every day of her life was a rush of anxiety and fear, a complete lack of hope.

When she'd seen Kenny at the ski lodge, she'd hoped things would turn out for the better. She had, for the first time in years, felt like it was okay to stop surviving and take a breath. She had hoped she'd finally found safety, with the feeling of Christmas joy in the air.

After all, if Walter, Sarita, Kenny, and Matthew had found the time to decorate the lodge, there were no serious threats around, right?

Oh, right. Her group had brought a threat with them. Not to mention the fact that Luke and Nick butted heads with Kenny constantly. All Clementine wanted to do was eat, not deal with grown men fighting like children, so when Walter had diffused the fight, she had thought that would be all the anguish she felt that night.

But the very second the name Duck had come out of Kenny's mouth at the dining table, her heart ached. She could feel it beating like a little bird trying to escape a cage.

"... _Kenny_..." She murmured, sympathy and understanding coating just one word, but the man had already realized his mistake and hung his head like a beaten dog.

She knew in that moment that Kenny was a broken man. A shattered china plate that could never be repaired.

Clementine could remember the last time she'd felt safe.

And then that feeling was crushed.

 


	3. Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wiser and world-worn Clementine watches over Wellington.

A wisp of breath escaped into the cool night air as Clementine sighed deeply.

Wellington had managed to stand for 6 long years. Amazing, really, considering how quickly Carver's settlement had collapsed after one herd had attacked it.

Wellington had survived two so far, and all of the guards had high hopes for the one that was on its way.

Even Clementine had to hope that the settlement would ride through the "shit-storm", as Kenny loved to describe it, and come out unharmed, like an ark during a flood.

But as she sat with her rifle, taking Edith's place as said woman was resting in her quarters, she couldn't help but feel an old fear creeping up her spine whilst stragglers from the herd stumbled towards the trenches that had been added to the fields surrounding Wellington's gates. Sure, the trenches would take care of a few lurkers, but once they were full? They would be useless.

Clementine lifted her binoculars to her eyes and scanned the forest. The concentration of lurkers was growing stronger, much like how the alcohol mixed in with Kenny's drinks became more potent each week. (At least, as potent as he could get away with inside the settlement, Clementine noted.) She knew that the herd itself would arrive within the next few days, if not the very next, and every Wellington resident would be needed to help ensure that the walls remained standing and the gates stayed firmly shut.

She thought about AJ for a moment, knowing full and well that if the walls were breached, the poor boy would be devoured within seconds if he were alone.

Clementine and Kenny had done their best to teach AJ how to survive the way that Clementine herself had when she was young and weak, but AJ was only six, younger than Clementine had been when she lost Lee, and was not yet ready to fight off a house cat, much less a fully grown man who'd turned into a lurker.

" _I can't believe I picked up that term from Luke and Nick._ " Clementine thought to herself, lamenting on how she used the term "lurkers" so frequently after she had met the two men - close as brothers to each other and to Clementine - and even more so after they had both died.

As she looked through her binoculars again, she saw a massive cluster of lurkers approaching through the woods and over the hill, further examination revealed hundreds more behind them, all ambling like a herd of sheep walking unbothered by a dog. Free to move as they wanted, no force stopping them.

It was time for the ark to touch the waves.


	4. Reload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love onomatopoeia.

Check the clip.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

Run.

Left, right, left, right, left, right, left.

Breathe.

In, out, in, out, in, out, in, out.

Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.

Heart beat, check.

You're trying to outrun about thirty ghosts of the past, ambling while their faces rot off their off-white skulls and there's not much else you can do.

Your gun weighs heavy in your hands, you need to carry it with all ten fingers and both arms.

You're still so small, so much smaller than the zombies coming at you, legs so much shorter than even the shortest undead monster in the horde.

You fire.

Check the clip.

One, two, three, four, five.

Stagger.

Left, right, left, right, left, right, left.

Wheeze.

In, out, in, out, in, out, in, out.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Ba-thump.


	5. Exodus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone chapter, so it's a bit short.

In theory, Carver should have been happy to have found the hardware store. In theory, everyone should have been happy to work together to build a home.

In theory, a man shouldn't use his power to lord over a woman.

But that's all, as stated, in theory.

Rebecca loathed every word to come out of the man's mouth, in all honesty. His every announcement to the ragtag group of survivors dripped with artificial intelligence and pride, as though he were some messiah brought to them by God in his glory. And he especially enjoyed working people like he was a slave driver, forcing them to take on tasks that he was "too important" for, as though it truly mattered in the end how many people he sacrificed to live another few days.

She especially loathed when Carver would call her into his little office and he would lock the door behind her. He would force her into his lap, whisper false nothings into her ears and make her do things that even her husband would never consider.

"You're mine." He was so fond of claiming.

"That baby's mine." He loved to assert.

Of course, one can't be the claimant of a woman or child when they're dead.

So when Kenny took to Carver's face like he was unleashing his years of loss and pain, Rebecca watched with reverence.

Rebecca imagined Carver was taking months of built up sadness and violation with him, imagined that he was taking his uppity bullshit with him, and imagined he was taking any ownership of her, no, Alvin's child with him into whatever hell his soul would find.

And, despite never being very religious, she found herself praying that whatever God out there could at least have the grace to have Carver burn for his sins.

And if he didn't, Rebecca promised herself that she would use whatever afterlife may be to drag Carver and God himself down to hell with her.

Clementine herself looked like a mixture of happy and horrified when watching Kenny, and Rebecca noted that there must be sins of their own type weighing on the child. At first she found herself hating the young girl, but in the same divine vow to God she made sure to note that Clementine and her own baby should find peace whenever they too, should pass.

Because no child should ever have to face the same twisted fates she had as an adult.


	6. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it a season for mourning? Or is it just that heavy deeds have just accumulated themselves over the past months?

Sometimes, you're amazed at even yourself.

It's such a foreign feeling to you; the protectiveness in your behavior, your way of living, but you wear it like a jacket.

It fits you strangely at the seams and tugs at you, but you wear it so proudly.

You first found yourself branding the little cooing boy as your son around the time you started feeling the gravity of your situation.

You were just a sarcastic kid yourself - barely thirteen, when you could keep track of the days - and, truly, had no idea what you were doing. In the old world, kids like you would be put on TV and marveled at, mocked. But in the new world, it's just sad.

It's been so long since you've had an interaction with someone outside of your two-man circle, but you can still feel their piteous gazes.

Kenny tried to be supportive, taking the father role so seriously and taking to it so naturally, and taught you the basics that mattered. You found that you did not, however, know for certain how to tell if the baby was sick if he wasn't vocal. You did not know how to teach a baby English, nor do you know, even now, how to teach him math or history or science. You were thrust into some sort of role roulette at such a young age, it's hard to remember the small things like that. You came to the thought that books would be good as a light resource to carry, and Alvin was so young you could read a gun cleaning manual to him and he'd still cling to your every word.

Somewhere in the back of your head, it tickles you that you try to include the child in everything you do.

You're much more world-wise and worn now. Honestly; you're beginning to feel like a muddy boot that the universe wears and abuses.

You're on the cusp of a transitional age, you're aware of. Alvin is coming up on 5, and you don't even know for certain how to drive. Small sacrifices, you suppose, as you're still mobile and well-armed. And yet, despite your young age and relative inexperience, you feel like a thirty year old on the edge of a crisis.

Is that the price of love? Of taking on such a responsibility? You couldn't dare abandon him, you wouldn't have been able to live with yourself, and so you took on motherhood like it was a dress-up cape; a game.

You never realized how much of an investment and commitment it would be, and your brain tortures you for it.

Sometimes, on your darkest nights, you consider shacking the the boy up at a random settlement and leaving in the steel cold night.

Sometimes on those yet darker nights, you entertain the nightmare of leaving him alone in a shed with a can of food and a hammer never to return.

Those are the nights that disturb you. Those are the nights where you awake in the morning to A.J. held vice-tight in your arms, your knuckles going white against your sleeves balled in your fists, and you remember how much you love him. 

And so, in the name of love, you change.

You force down your anger, your rage, and your resentment at your situation down like it's rum. It burns just as much as you remember it, and swells in your gut the same as the liquor had.

It may be wrong; but you find yourself including spirits on your "want" checklist and rationalize with yourself that you can use it as antiseptic.

You're on the cusp of a difficult transition like a caterpillar building its chrysalis in the rain. You were always fascinated by butterflies.

You were a kindred spirit to them.

And so, as you focus on your task at hand while A.J.'s soft snores fill the cabin, you run the rag along the barrel of your shotgun. You aren't certain when you start or where the tune begins, but you begin humming.

The tune makes itself known to you as some old song Kenny introduced you to in the truck so long ago, during the quest for Wellington, Ohio. Softly, the memory warms in your chest, as does the warm and vibrant sound of guitar strings being strummed. You remember it fondly, and vaguely recall the word Nirvana in part of the scraggly, wonderful old man's description.

The words to the song come to you like floating leaves in the autumn sun.

"Little girl, little girl, don't lie to me." Eases from your lips while you run a swab into the barrel of your gun.

"Tell me, where did you sleep last night?" The leaves outside rustle in the slow breeze, and you can hear it whistle through the brush. In tune with the howl of nature, you can feel your voice in your chest as you continue. 

"In the pines, in the pines where the sun never shines." You pull a spare jacket over A.J. like a makeshift blanket.

"We'll shiver the whole night through..." and you spot-check, then load a slug into the chamber of your gun.

As you watch the sunrise ease above the windowsill, you feel at peace. The welcome rays filter in through gaps in the window boards that were hastily hung in the dead of the night and illuminate the sleeping boy's face.

And in the naked light, you see hope's glimmer in the waning shadows. You never thought yourself a philosopher, but your overwhelming desire to care for A.J. and give him a secure future feels like an oasis, a goal, and a purpose.

Even Ava would call you a good mom, just like you told the baseball player in Virginia.

Javier, that was his name.

And Rebecca - Oh, Kenny once told you that she was smiling down on you.

You reveled in that.

Luke.

You miss him and miss the constant he became in such a brief period of time. Idly, you think he may have been your first kid crush.

Lee.

You want to cry at the thought of him and all that the man was. You miss him more than you ever missed your parents as people, though you now know that some of your only parental memories are just the hazy memories of feelings and emotions. Its crushing to know that, because you were so young, you know you'll forget the smallest, silliest things like his favourite color and the shape of his laughter lines.

Mom and Dad.

They left you with a babysitter and bailed, then they died. They were on the front edge of the infection crisis, though, so you can't hold it against them. And oh, how you miss being cherished like silk and loved boundlessly when you were small, and the happiness and -

You won't torture yourself with that train of thought, for now.

Instead, you settle back against the wall and sprawl your legs, resting your shotgun easily across your lap.

Your watch A.J.'s breath rise and fall in his small chest and you smile.

You've committed yourself to being his Lee, and you uphold your promises.


End file.
